


This Ain’t Your Ordinary "Antiques Road Show," Folks

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Gen, Radioactive Isotopes, Terrorists, black ops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29487693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Neal and Alex share a history, and when the pretty fence gets into a jam, Neal is there to help, even if it means getting naked.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey & Alex Hunter, Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

It was a normal Monday morning on the 21st floor of the Federal Building. Peter was in his office perusing files, Diana and Jones were discussing their weekends, and Neal was trying to do as little as possible while still looking busy. His attempt at being engaged with his computer screen faltered when a trio of somber men in dark suits trooped through the glass doors of the White Collar Office and marched, single-file, up to Reese Hughes’ office on the second level. Neal noticed Peter also observing the newcomers, and things became even more intriguing when his handler was summoned into a little parlay taking place in the conference room.

“What do you think is going on up there that merits a visit from the _Men in Black_?” Neal asked his coworkers.

“I’d wager my next paycheck it has something to do with you, Caffrey,” Jones stated confidently.

“Why am I always everybody’s whipping boy?” Neal complained. “That’s just hurtful because sometimes I’m actually innocent.”

“Yeah, sure,” Diana snorted. “And sometimes pigs really do sprout wings.”

Neal was thinking of a witty comeback, but didn’t get to deliver it because Peter was giving his CI the two-fingered summons. To say that Jones and Diana looked smug was an understatement. The con man ignored his annoying teammates. He stood up from his chair, shot the French cuffs on his shirt, buttoned his vintage suit jacket, and then squared his shoulders. Whatever awaited him upstairs, he now had his armor firmly in place.

Neal tried to project an air of curious but unperturbed interest as he moseyed into the conference room. Not one of the three new visitors offered a handshake. To a man, they all looked at their phones, stared at him intently, and then put their cells away. Neal wondered what picture of him they were using for identification purposes. Hughes finally spoke up at that point.

“Take a seat right here at the head of the conference table, Caffrey,” he said authoritatively. “These men are from the Office of Homeland Security as well as the Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency. They have questions for you about something that concerns terrorism and poses a threat to our country.”

“You guys do realize that I work in White Collar—right?” Neal looked from one stony face to the other as he planted himself in a chair.

When he didn’t receive an answer, just more of the steady glare, Neal impulsively flung his left leg up onto the tabletop so that his anklet could be seen. “Whatever you think I did, well, here’s my alibi. Just check the history, fellas, ‘cause it’s all there to prove my case.”

The _Men in Black_ didn’t appear very impressed, but they were suddenly motivated to move this intimidation along. One of the visitors placed an 8x10 color photo on the desk before Neal. “You know this woman—correct?”

“I suppose you already know that I do,” Neal shrugged as he stared at Alex Hunter’s picture.

“Tell us about her,” the inquisitor demanded.

“Pretty, smart, witty, clever,” Neal extolled Alex’s virtues while he stalled for time to decipher their interest.

One of the government agents stepped forward menacingly. “Look, pal, we’re not here to play stupid games with you. We know that Alexandra Hunter is a very eclectic high-end fence who can move anything from gems and paintings to ancient artifacts. What we want to know is her current whereabouts or how to get in touch with her.”

“Is she actually a person of interest to Homeland Security?” Neal asked in mock disbelief.

“Let’s just say that a ‘person of interest’ is exactly what _you’re_ going to be if you don’t knock off the attitude and start cooperating!” was the answer he got.

Neal sat up taller in his chair. “Look, Mr. Spook, Alex Hunter and I may have had some interactions in the past, but that was years ago and we haven’t kept in touch. We’re neither BFFs nor Facebook chums, so you can stop with your own terror tactics!”

It was at this delicate impasse that Peter decided to step in. He knew from past experience that threatening Neal would be counterproductive. He’d just dig his heels in and become even more stubborn and obnoxious.

“Neal, Alex may be into something way over her head and precarious. She may not even realize how dangerous it really is, so we need to find her, confront her, and protect her, if necessary.”

“What did Alex steal?” Neal asked wearily. “That’s why these people are here, isn’t it? They think she either took something or is moving something that somehow poses a terrorist threat to this country. I can be more forthcoming, guys, if I’m not working in the dark.”

One of the men from Homeland Security actually looked pained when he finally spoke up. “It has come to our attention that Ms. Hunter is now is possession of something that we desperately want.” 

“I gathered that much,” Neal scoffed, “but that’s not really the whole story, now is it?"

The government man glowered, but knew he had to give something in order to get what he needed. “What we are about to tell you must remain in this room,” he threatened. “If you choose to divulge any of the details, you could be arrested and tried for treason. Do I make myself clear?”

“I can be discrete—just ask my handler,” Neal shrugged nonchalantly. “But if you’re that twitchy, you can always do a Tommy Lee Jones thing and neutralize my memory after everything is said and done.”

The Homeland Security representative ignored Neal’s sarcasm as he began to spool out a tale. “Very recently, a major burial ground with 83 graves has been discovered by archaeologists in the north of Egypt, dating back to an era much before the time of the pharaohs and their elaborate rituals of embalming, mummification, and interment in pyramids. This mass gravesite contains individual skeletons with accompanying canopic sealed jars that are thought to contain the deceased's vital organs. Initially, the Egyptian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities took possession of the ancient artifacts, but somehow three of those canopic jars went missing.”

“And you think that Alex Hunter stole them?” Neal wanted to know.

Now it was the representative from Cybersecurity and Infrastructure who spoke for the first time. “We can’t pinpoint her whereabouts at the time of the theft, but we are now aware that she has them and is trying to fence them to a buyer on the Web. She’s utilizing Tor software which enables anonymous communication by directing Internet traffic through a vast worldwide overlay network of more than seven thousand relays in order to conceal a user’s location from network surveillance.”

“I know what Tor is,” Neal remarked. “It makes nosy, intrusive agencies unable to see what sites you visit, or to read your on-line posts, instant messages, or any other types of communication. It sorta gives Big Brother a black eye.”

“Just as it gives terror mongers and their ilk a leg up to perpetrate their crimes,” the Homeland Security dude quickly responded.

“I’m not buying the Brooklyn Bridge, guys,” Neal said flippantly. “There’s more than some ancient jars in play here. Loop me in or I think we’re done. You can’t charge me with anything, from what I can gather.”

Apparently, Neal was holding the winning hand because, after a brief whispered aside, the government point man finally spoke up. “Okay, here’s where it falls into the realm of confidential need-to-know,” he intoned in a low voice. “About six months ago, we heard chatter about the theft of some weapons-grade cesium-137 from a medical facility in Russia. We think some ISIS rebels who lurk in the Caucasus Mountains got hold of it because Russia is considered to be the nexus of terrorist recruits traveling to Syria and Iran. We think the Chechens were the original thieves because that faction has a history of doing such things. They actually pulled similar stunts in 1995 and 1998 when separatists wanted Ukrainian autonomy but weren’t successful in releasing a dirty bomb in Moscow as planned. The half-life of that isotope is approximately 30 years, so it would have been a catastrophic event even greater than what happened in Chernobyl or Fukushima.”

Neal, Peter, and Hughes remained quiet waiting for the other shoe to drop, which eventually, it did as the story continued. “From our close intel, we think the hot potato took a circuitous route from the Eurasian continent to Northern Africa. We closely monitor people entering the United States from Arab countries, so a courier arriving from Egypt was out of the question. Their possessions would have been searched very thoroughly. However, a young, attractive, and female American citizen bringing home some quaint souvenirs from her innocent visit to Egypt would raise less red flags.”

Neal was dumbfounded. “So, are you saying that the raw elements to make a dirty bomb are contained in some ancient clay burial urns?”

Neal’s interviewer nodded. “What was stolen was in powder form so it could easily be contained in a lead vial no bigger than 3 or 4 inches in height and width. Then it could have been placed in any one of those three urns before they were sealed up again.”

“Would Alex be in danger from the radiation?” Neal asked with worry in his voice.

“Not as long as the lead container isn’t tampered with in any fashion.”

Neal was shaking his head. “Look, Alex may be a lot of things, but she’d never put her country in peril for any amount of money. She probably doesn’t know what she has. She probably thinks she’s just the middleman in an antiquities deal and is going to get a percentage of what they sell for.”

“Perhaps,” the Homeland Security representative agreed. “What we do know is that she’s put all the goods up for sale on an auction platform via Tor and is touting them as original Egyptian artifacts. If she were playing informed courier for the terrorists, she would have probably just arrived Stateside and delivered them personally. That makes us suspect she’s being used. The actual ISIS sect most likely wanted to add another layer of separation, so she was probably told to advertise them on the Web and accept the highest bid from the person who is meant to be the recipient. She’s probably still in the dark as to his identity, only that he will be the top bidder. We have to stop the transaction from happening. What we don’t know is where she is at the moment. We can’t find her coming into LaGuardia or JFK in the past weeks, so she still may be abroad waiting until she has a buyer on the hook or the intended terrorist makes contact.”

Peter felt compelled to say something at this point. “Alex could have slipped across the Canadian border in out of the way lax checkpoints that range from Upstate New York all the way to Illinois. It’s been done before,” he added as he glanced briefly at his CI.

“That’s why we’re here telling tales out of school,” the spokesman murmured. “We want Mr. Caffrey to make contact with his former friend.”

“And what if I can’t find her?” Neal wanted to know.

“Then I guess you’ll become a very ambitious and anxious buyer. She’s using the handle _Cleopatra_ , and she already has one persistent fish on the hook, most likely the embedded terrorist here in the States, and we think Manhattan is ground zero. The terror attack on 9/11 took place right here. The other targets were also on the Eastern seaboard—the Pentagon and the White House. In one fell swoop, these demons sought to paralyze our government as well as our center of finance. We dropped the ball back then when we failed to take an interest in Arab nationals who took flying lessons in Florida but who never bothered to learn how to land an aircraft. We can’t let that happen again. We are going on the assumption that those same areas of the country will be the new targets. We have to start somewhere, so we’re putting all our bets on New York City as the place for the handoff.”

“So, you want me to help you nab an unsuspecting friend who’s being played,” Neal commented.

“Of course we’d like to grab the actual terrorist, but we’ll take what we can get, and right now, we desperately want the cesium-137. With that being said, if you fail to contact the lady, then you, Mr. Caffrey, will just have to join in the Internet haggling competition. I trust you can be more persistent so that you can outmaneuver and ultimately outbid the other patron.”

“I do know one thing about the way Alex does business,” Neal said softly. “She’ll only accept bitcoin as payment.”

“And you will have unlimited amounts of that at your disposal,” he was told.

“That’s gonna really piss off some dangerous people,” Neal warned.

“We’ll be watching your back,” he was assured, which really didn’t reassure him very much. Neal chanced a glance at his White Collar colleagues. Hughes expression remained bland, but Peter gave a slight nod. That made it seem like a done deal.

The three serious government men had said what they came to say and turned to leave after giving Neal their contact information. “We’ll be watching,” the lead government man said ominously.

“Of course you will,” Neal replied with a frown. “A lot of people enjoy watching me, so maybe all you voyeurs could form your own little club, maybe call it _Peepers Anonymous_.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but then he became very somber after they were alone. “Go home and do whatever it is you do when you don’t want me to know what you’re doing. Just do it fast because this is some serious stuff and important people are counting on you.”

Neal sighed. “Yeah, I get that. I guess I’ll do my thing by becoming part of the _Antiques Road Show._ ”


	2. Chapter 2

During the cab ride to his loft on Riverside Drive, Neal left a message on Mozzie’s bat phone. The little bald man actually beat Neal home and had taken the liberty of availing himself of a fine Malbec.

“So, what’s up, mon frère? You got out of school early today.”

“I need you to try and contact Alex and see if she’s currently in New York,” Neal informed his friend.

Mozzie’s face became a picture of dejection. “I’m not exactly on Alex’s good side right now,” he claimed. “After a little past indiscretion, she informed me that I’m dead to her.”

“Alex doesn’t hold a grudge,” Neal said quickly. “All that stuff is probably long forgotten.”

“Can I ask why you desire to renew old acquaintances with snippy, unpredictable ladies?” Mozzie was suddenly suspicious.

“Alex may be in possession of something I want, and I have to make contact to see if she does have it and then persuade her to give it to me,” Neal explained.

“Déjà vu—it’s the amber music box all over again,” Mozzie sighed. “Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time around?”

“This is somewhat more important,” Neal said steadily.

“I guess I could put out some feelers,” Mozzie shrugged.

“I don’t want to wait that long, Moz. This is time-sensitive, so I have to move on it pronto,” Neal said very seriously.

“Now you’ve piqued my curiosity, mon frère. What does she have that you desperately want?”

Instead of answering directly, Neal pushed his laptop in Mozzie’s direction. “Go on the Dark Web and find someone who goes by the pseud _Cleopatra_. She’s peddling some things that I want. Use Tor while you’re spelunking.”

“I always do,” Mozzie claimed breezily.

A few moments later, Mozzie looked up at his friend quizzically. “Seriously, Neal, you desire to own some shoddy old jars purported to have been unearthed from an Egyptian grave? Unless they contain the treasures of King Tut, I fail to appreciate the appeal. You could find better stuff at any yard sale.”

Neal looked over Mozzie’s shoulder at three innocuous-looking urns that contained not jewels, but something deadly and vile. “Yep, those are the ones,” he murmured.

“Well, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste,” Mozzie snarked. “Somebody else also seems to be enamored. The offer is one hell of an opening salvo—$20,00, to be specific. So, give me the real low down, Neal. What makes these so valuable?”

“I can’t share that information, Moz. Sorry.”

Mozzie was appalled. “When have we started keeping secrets from one another?”

“When it means keeping you safe from the fallout,” Neal tried to deflect Mozzie’s interest.

Now the little bald man was eyeing his friend shrewdly. “You just came from the FBI, and now you’re suddenly on some kind of mission that involves Alex Hunter. This has Big Brother stamped all over it. Have you suddenly gone over to the dark side, I mean, even more than usual?”

“Look, Moz, it’s not that I won’t tell you; it’s more like I can’t tell you if I want to stay relatively free here in New York and prevent you from disappearing into the ether. Certain people are now holding all the cards and they have a lot of heavy clout.”

Mozzie narrowed his eyes. “Neal, please don’t tell me that all of my government conspiracy theories have come to fruition.”

Neal shrugged. “Like I said, Moz—I can’t really tell you anything except that I’ve got to outbid whoever else wants those Egyptian canopic jars. Can you help me?”

Mozzie sighed heavily. “Of course, I’ll help. The Dark Web is my bailiwick. If you want to join in the bidding, you’ll need a handle better than whomever is currently interested. He or she merely signs in with a mishmash of letters and numbers which displays little imagination. You should have an avatar that is more intriguing and apropos. How about _The Sheik of Arabry?_ That’s a nod to a popular song written back in 1921 extolling the charisma of a dashing Rudolph Valentino. He actually played the starring role in a movie entitled _The Sheik_.

“Fine—whatever,” Neal agreed. “Is there a clock displayed telling us how long the auction’s going to last?”

Mozzie nodded. “Yep—48 more hours before the bidding is closed out. My advice would be to take it down to the wire and then swoop in with just seconds left to outbid your competition. If you win, we’ll have to convert some assets to come up with the money.”

“That won’t be necessary, Moz. My backers have very deep pockets.”

“Interesting,” the little bald man drawled. “Uncle Sam has very deep pockets. Tell me if I’m getting warm.”

“Please, Mozzie, just leave it alone,” Neal begged to no avail because his friend was on a roll.

“Well, damn!” the conspiracy theorist hissed. “Now it all makes sense. Kinda gives a bit more credence to the premise that our government has aliens in cryogenic stasis out in Nevada’s Area 51, that is unless scientists have already dissected them.”

“Mozzie, just stay focused on the task at hand. Keep monitoring the bidding from your end and let me know of any movement you see,” Neal pleaded.

“Okay—sure,” Mozzie agreed. “Maybe when it’s over, you’ll be more forthcoming.”

Neal didn’t answer, but he was thinking that when it was over, he desperately hoped that all the citizens of New York City wouldn’t be radioactive.

~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, Peter arrived at Neal’s loft later that night, thankfully after Mozzie had departed for one of his bolt holes. Neal sighed and offered his partner a beer. “Any progress on finding Alex?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Not definitively,” Neal answered, “although you’re not the first person who has asked. I’ve been fielding calls all night from our spooks about that. I think I’ve located her on that auction site where she’s using a Cleopatra alias.”

“Did you enter the bidding competition?” Peter wanted to know.

“Not yet, but I will when the time is right.”

“Well, you better win,” Peter said forcefully.

“Look, Peter, I get the gravity of the situation. I don’t want to glow in the dark any more than the next person,” Neal answered irritably.

“Okay, Buddy, I’ll tone it down. I know you’ll come through because you always do. How are you planning to set up a rendezvous to take possession of the goods after the auction ends?”

“Alex and I share a history, so I’ll be a bit dodgy, but she’ll be able to read between the lines. She’ll know it’s me, and she’ll make the meet, probably just because she’s curious why I’m interested in some old crusty clay pots.”

“She won’t try to double-cross you? If memory serves me, she wasn’t above doing that in the past,” Peter said worriedly.

“I guess we’ll just have to hope that she won’t this time,” Neal said softly.

“I don’t like so make iffy variables in this scenario,” Neal’s handler groused.

“Welcome to my world, Peter,” Neal replied.

Peter meandered over to Neal’s couch and sank down wearily onto the cushions. “I have to be honest, Neal. I feel out of my depth on this one. I expect danger to come at me in the form of White Collar criminals and even from the occasional mob-related bad guy. But something of this magnitude is almost incomprehensible. I remember back to a time on a September morning in 2001 and thinking the world as we know it was coming to an end. For the first time since Pearl Harbor, a foreign enemy had brought war to our country’s doorstep because of an ideology that had become lethal. Give me good old fashion greed any day of the week.”

“Believe me, Peter, I’d rather be brokering a deal for a Rafael or a Renoir instead of a canister of mass destruction that could obliterate us all.”

“Yeah, I guess we’re both well above our paygrade on this one,” Peter sighed. “Do you think we should send El and June out of the state to someplace far away?”

“They’d want to know why,” Neal answered, "and you know that old saying, _‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you.’_ Those government guys were very serious about that, and our precious ladies would become collateral damage in a conflict they didn’t even know was going on.”

Peter drained his beer bottle. “Neal, you have to be successful because that’s the only option.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Buddy,” Neal said softly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later found Neal once again in the FBI conference room with just minutes left in the auction. Mozzie had meticulously placed the site on Neal’s laptop and he was signed in under his pseudonym. Three familiar defenders of the realm were intently peering over his shoulder at his screen while Peter and Hughes tried to angle a look from behind their backs.

“Just put in a bid already,” one of the Homeland Security guys urged. “There’s only one other bid so far, so top that $20,000.”

“Patience,” Neal murmured. “It ain’t over til it’s over. A lot of things can be put into play in a matter of a few minutes.”

Neal was right, because with just 10 seconds left on the clock, Alex changed the game plan. She knew what she possessed seemed to have great value to someone, so she was going to take advantage of the moment. Without warning, she had suddenly posted a “ _Buy It Now_ ” notice with an exorbitant price of $100,000. When the clock had but 1 remaining second, The Sheik of Araby took the plunge and won the prize.

“Jesus H. Christ!” Mr. Homeland Security cursed. “Do you realize that you’ve just earmarked a hundred grand to some cagey fence?”

Neal wheeled around on his accuser. “You wanted the job done, so now it’s done. You guys weren’t up to the task, so don’t criticize my methods.”

“We wanted you to find your little playmate before this all went down, not increase the national debt,” the man snarled.

“You better play nice, Mr. Pompous, because you still need me,” Neal replied, refusing to be intimidated. “After the bitcoin transaction goes through, I’ll have to set up a meet to take possession of the items. If you guys in your dark suits, rep ties, and wingtips stroll in, Alex will make you in a second and suspect a trap. If she rabbits, you’ll never find her because she's very good at hiding. I’m a known variable to her, so my chances of success in getting what you want from the lady go up exponentially.”

The aggressive government agent took a breath to regain his composure. “Well, make that happen away from any densely populated areas of the city with enough cover to allow us to be on site. We have to think worst case scenario and have a hazmat team waiting in the wings. We’ll also have a containment unit on standby to stash that canister with its very dangerous payload.”

“I’m not going to tell you how to do your thing, so don’t get into my business,” Neal warned.

Peter suddenly came to Neal’s aid. “Caffrey knows what he’s doing. Just give him some space.”

Grudgingly, the Homeland Security representative acknowledged that he had gotten a thumbs up to wire the bitcoin currency to an encoded bank account somewhere incognito around the globe. Minutes after that, The Sheik of Araby got an instant message that consisted of just one character—“?.”

“She wants details about the meet,” Neal informed his audience, so I’m going to make her do a little cerebral drudgery. She’s going to have to figure out a puzzle.”

Then Neal’s nimble fingers danced over the keys of the laptop. His message was succinct— _site of the ultimate fractal rescue._

Within seconds, Neal’s cell was buzzing in his pocket. The screen said, “Unknown Caller,” but this caller really wasn’t unknown. “Hello, Alex,” Neal sighed contentedly into the phone.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr. Homeland Security was suddenly scribbling on a legal pad and underlining it for extra emphasis. “Speaker!!!”

Neal complied just as Alex was sighing deeply. “Neal, why am I not surprised? You always manage to crop up like a fungus in the men’s shower at the YMCA. What’s so special about what I have in my possession?”

“Alex, Darlin,’ I just made you a very wealthy woman, so why are you questioning my motives?”

“Maybe because I don’t trust you?” the lady sniped.

“C’mon, Alex. We go way back, so you know I won’t screw you,” Neal replied calmly.

“That’s not exactly an accurate statement in more ways than one,” Alex simpered.

Now five other men in the conference room were rolling their eyes, but Neal chose to ignore them. “Look, Alex, it isn’t me who has an agenda. Other very dangerous people are pulling the strings and I don’t want to see you get hurt. Just meet me and complete the deal, then walk away—actually run as fast as you can.”

“It’s not like you to get a case of the heebie-jeebies, Neal, so tell me what’s got you so freaked out,” Alex was suddenly serious.

“I’d tell you if could, but I’ve got company right now,” the con man answered as he watched the government men seethe and grind their teeth.

“So, you want me to get in and then get out quickly,” Alex pondered the scenario. “Are you sure that’s going to be a viable option for me?”

“I’ll broker a deal to make that happen,” Neal replied, promising something he hadn’t yet worked out.

A long silence ensued until Alex capitulated. “Okay. Tomorrow evening, 6 PM, at the exact spot where you once delved into my cleavage with your teeth.”

“I knew you’d remember,” Neal said in relief.

“Ah, Neal, I remember everything that ever went on between us,” Alex answered wistfully.

After Neal hung up, Peter was the only other person in the room besides his partner who knew the drop location. It had been the site of a nerve wracking experience when Vincent Adler’s thugs had a handcuffed trio that included Neal, Alex, and himself lying helplessly at the bottom of an empty shipyard berth waiting to be drowned.

“Dry dock in Staten Island,” he informed his colleagues. “It’s fairly isolated and has plenty of cover for you guys to hunker down and do your thing.”

Neal suddenly spoke up. “And I’ll do my thing only after you reassure me that Alex Hunter walks away free and clear. If I don’t have that in writing in the next hour, I’ll call the lady back and cancel.”

“Try that and we can throw your ass in jail, and not one here in the Big Apple. You’d simply disappear, Mr. Caffrey, while we take your place,” a formidable adversary informed him.

“Now wait just one minute and stop throwing your weight around,” Hughes was suddenly very vocal. “Neal’s done his patriotic duty as you asked. This is the one thing he’s asking in return, so I think you owe him. To our knowledge, Alexandra Hunter hasn’t broken any laws, at least not on United States soil. She was just a puppet being manipulated.”

“That’s for us to determine,” came the ominous reply. “We need to find out what she knows about the person or persons in Egypt who initially got her involved.”

Neal was ready to haggle. “How about you let her go after she’s been debriefed to your satisfaction, and then you allow her to keep the $100,000 and get on with her life. That’s not asking for the impossible. You spooks make deals like that all the time, or so I’ve heard from a reliable source who shall remain nameless.”

“I don’t have the authority to make that call,” the man stalled.

Hughes had heard enough from the sidelines and he was getting frustrated and testy. “Then run it up the proverbial flag pole until you _can_ make it happen,” he demanded, quite fed up with pandering to elitists, even if they were sort of compatriots. “Everybody has a boss, so get in touch with yours. And move your ass because this has an expiration date and time!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter and Neal finally were allowed some privacy in Peter’s office. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Neal’s handler complained.

“The old Burke gut detector?” Neal teased. “I mean, what could go wrong except the annihilation by radiation sickness of people within a wide radius if the powder is unsealed, gets spilled, and the wind disperses it even farther. It’s actually more deadly if it comes in contact with water. If that happens, it takes the words, ‘hazardous wastes and pollution,’ to new levels.”

“I see you’ve done some research,” Peter said softly. “Really scary scenario, especially since one unknown person remains out there and could be lurking. He’s got to be pissed that he didn’t win the goods. We don’t know if he has the capability of tracking Alex and will show up to take what he was supposed to get from the onset.”

“Yeah, the actual intended recipient is a troubling factor,” Neal agreed. “Arranging the meet out in the boondocks may make it harder for him or her to blend in. At least, I hope so.”

“I’m going to be there, Neal. There’s no way anybody is keeping me away,” Peter promised.

“That’s not necessary, Buddy,” Neal protested. “Don’t put yourself in harm’s way because of me. Think of Elizabeth before you do something foolhardy.”

“El is my partner and so are you, and I’d do anything to keep both of you safe. Surely you know that by now,” Peter said earnestly.

Neal smiled. “I think your life was a lot less complicated before I came on the scene years ago and started tweaking your interest.”

“Okay, Hotshot, I’ll admit you were the zeitgeist of that particular period in my career, but now our relationship is different. You’ve become a friend—sometimes an annoying pain in the butt friend, but a friend no less. So, just accept what you can’t change. I’m going to be there tomorrow.”

“Got it!” Neal replied with a smart salute. “Thank you, Peter, for being you,” he added as he walked out the door, made his way downstairs through the bullpen, and then disappeared into an elevator car.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal had been in dangerous, tough positions before, and he tried to envision this caper as no different. Just show up, get the goods, and then pass it along up the food chain. But this time was unique. The stakes were much higher than him getting caught and being toted off to jail if it all went to hell in a handbasket. This was a life and death situation for a whole lot of innocent people. He had to stay calm and do it right. Probably with some sort of sixth sense, Mozzie had left Neal alone, and that was a good thing because Mozzie was acutely attuned to Neal’s moods. He’d spot a bit of nervous tension a mile away. Neal had to be in peak form and not bother with worry because Peter was worried enough for the both of them.

Dressed in black jeans and a turtleneck, but missing his tracker, a cautious CI was already scouting out the meeting site on Staten Island at least sixty minutes before zero hour and his rendezvous with Alex. Old habits die hard, so he cased all the entrance and exit points and mentally calculated how long it would take to get to each. Looking down the cement steps that led to the base of the dry dock brought back very clear memories, courtesy of Vincent Adler. That little hiccup had turned out for the best, so he could only hope this one would end just as well.

At 5:30 PM, black vans started moving in to set up their own clandestine surveillance within the cavernous depths of adjacent warehouses, and it almost unnerved Neal when a quick scan showed snipers hunkering down on nearby rooftops. To calm his nerves, Neal dug the ear bud out of his pocket that was his lifeline to Peter. Hearing his handler’s steady voice helped Neal to settle.

“Why so many sharpshooters, and just who are they supposed to target?” Neal asked, wondering if he and Alex were going to be loose ends that had to be eliminated after the government men got what they wanted.

“They’re in place just in case our mystery person shows up,” Peter answered curtly.

“Do they really expect that to be a possibility?” Neal mused out loud.

Neal heard Peter snort. “Look, Buddy, you and I are both jaded enough to realize that the government has more holes than swiss cheese. Things that are supposed to be all hush-hush get leaked. If anything goes pear-shaped, I just might slug the first big-mouthed idiot who tries to spin a clusterfuck and place the blame on us.”

“I really don’t like guns and now I’m really starting to hate radioactive elements on the periodic table, as well,” Neal muttered.

“Focus, Buddy,” Peter said soothingly.

“Yeah, I’m on it,” Neal replied because now that the bewitching hour was close, a master thief and con artist was shifting into autopilot mode and feeling it like a second skin. He casually leaned against the railing abutting the empty dry dock pit, and at precisely 6 PM, he could see a similarly black-clad Alex Hunter making her way toward him from the east. She had a substantial leather satchel slung over her shoulder. When she got close to Neal, he favored her with a charming smile.

“Hello, Alex.”

The pretty fence grimaced. “Neal, we have to stop meeting like this. Maybe next time we can make it a real date with candles on the table and a violinist playing our song. Oh, but wait—we don’t have a song, do we? What we only seem to share is a stupid game of trying to outfox the other!”

“Alex, you sound bitter,” Neal frowned. “We had some good times, too.”

“Yeah, some of those ‘good times’ I do remember,” the young woman replied as she gazed down into the deep dry dock berth. “It’s never a dull moment when you’re involved.”

“I could say the same thing,” Neal shrugged. “Actually, what you have in that satchel is responsible for me being dragged into your drama. Now, can I see the goods?”

Alex was looking at him shrewdly. “Sure, a deal is a deal,” she said as she placed her carryall on the ground and lifted one small earthenware jar from her stash.

It was at that moment while Neal was distracted that the silence was broken by the sound of a revving motorcycle quickly bearing down on them from the direction Alex had just come. In the blink of an eye, a leather-clad figure in a black helmet with a visor swooped by and grabbed the bag. The momentum of the vehicle threw Alex off-balance and the fragile canopic jar slipped from her hand and began rolling towards the rim of the dry dock pit. Neal lunged for it just as a rifle shot cracked. He didn’t see the motorcycle rider and his purloined leather bag fly from his bike and go skittering across the cement. What Neal saw were his own fingers reaching for a small urn as it rolled over the pavement and then tumbled into an abyss far below. When he chanced a panicked look down, he gazed at a mass of clay shards and a shiny metallic canister reflecting the dying rays of the sun.

What happened next seemed like something out of a science fiction movie. In a nanosecond, an army of figures emerged on the run from what was once a deserted warehouse. They looked like otherworldly astronauts clad in voluminous white biohazard suits with rebreather packs on their backs delivering untainted air through a hose. A segment of the advancing force split off to hastily toss a heavy, lead-lined blanket into the dry dock to cover the exposed canister. Others in the cadre accosted Neal and Alex, smothering them in a kind of poncho that was much heavier than thinsulate. They were quickly hustled away from the scene to a type of plastic greenhouse affair where they were told to strip off their clothes and step inside the enclosure. What came next was an intense shower of white sudsy foam that hit them from all directions.

After what seemed like an eternity, the pulsating jets of a neutralizing rinse stopped. Neal wiped his eyes to peer at Alex, who now looked like a drowned rat. He suspected he looked much the same, but he managed to send her a comical grin. “If you wanted to get naked with me, Sweetheart, you just had to ask.”

Alex wasn’t about to be outdone. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been in the buff together, Neal. But even I have standards, and I don’t particularly appreciate an audience.”

Neal glanced beyond the clear plastic walls of the makeshift decontamination chamber. He lost count of the number of people milling around and staring. “Oh, don’t mind them, Alex. They’re just part of a group I call _Peepers Anonymous_. I suppose everybody suffers from an addiction of some sort.”

Epilogue

Peter let himself into Neal’s apartment and found the con man out on his balcony admiring the million dollar view. “Hughes told me you were back,” the agent said as he held up Neal’s tracking anklet.

“Yeah, well welcome home to me,” Neal quipped as he put his foot up on a small outdoor side table so that Peter could do the honors.

“How was it wherever they had you hidden away?” Peter asked curiously.

Neal shrugged. “Pretty intense. Alex and I were Geiger countered to death if you can even use that word as a verb. Then we were blindfolded and hustled away to some black ops site where they collected our blood and some other embarrassing bodily fluids to check for what they called roentgens. I guess they didn’t find any because eventually the docs took off their spacesuits when they were around us.”

Peter nodded. “Hughes did manage to find out that the lead canister containing the cesium held and didn’t rupture after it fell into the pit. The other two jars in the leather satchel remained intact and were actually empty.”

“What about the unfortunate motorcycle victim who went splat on the asphalt thanks to the snipers?” Neal asked. “Did they figure out who he was?”

“Homeland Security is a tight-lipped group and they’re not into sharing, so we’ll probably never know the man’s identity or who he was affiliated with,” Peter answered.

Neal raised an eyebrow. “Maybe not as tight-lipped as they’d like us to believe. Somebody in their clandestine little fiefdom must have gotten chatty because how else could biker dude have known about the meet.”

“I agree that they shot themselves in the foot during this operation,” Peter agreed, “but they’ll bury their shortcomings.”

Neal grinned. “Mozzie is over the moon knowing all his conspiracy theories have been validated.”

“You told him about what went down?” Peter seemed appalled.

“Sure, but after the fact,” Neal reassured his handler. “Besides, who would believe his rantings about government cover-ups? That’s old news which Mozzie’s been espousing for years.”

“You’ve got a point, I suppose,” Peter shrugged.

“Well, at least the evil government consortium was man enough to keep one bargain,” Neal was suddenly more upbeat. “They let Alex go. I got a text from her yesterday saying she’s off for parts unspecified to spend some of her recently acquired $100,000.”

“Neal, you really should think about getting new friends.”

Neal looked his handler in the eye. “What I should think about is concentrating on what I do best. No more James Bond stuff for me. From now on I’m going to narrow my activities to White Collar crimes.”

“Solving them, not committing them, I hope,” Peter growled sternly.

“Of course,” Neal rewarded Peter with his trademark cheeky grin, which should have been reassuring, only it wasn’t!


End file.
